


the way the good lord made us all

by cant



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: Cute, Multi, m/m/f, they're cute tbh morning just worries a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 06:32:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12359577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cant/pseuds/cant
Summary: most cults are dangerous but morning misses his





	the way the good lord made us all

__

_Man made the buildings that reach for the sky_  
_And man made the motorcar and learned how to drive_  
_But he didn't make the flowers and he didn't make the trees_  
_And he didn't make you and he didn't make me_  
_And he got no right to turn us into machines_  
_He's got no right at all_  
_Cause we are all God's children_  
_And he got no right to change us_  
_Oh, we gotta go back the way the good lord made us all_

It was like a squeezing pain in his stomach, deep down inside his core, far too deep for anyone to reach. His brain kept making shapes out of nothing, telling him someone was home when there was nobody there, wondering if they really did love him.

Of course they loved him, Morning scolded himself, scrubbing the counter top a little more vigorously. How could a house like this exist in such purity if it wasn’t filled with love? The way the sun seeped through the cracks, the windows, warming his hands as he worked to make room for what he knew later would be a good meal, told him that yes, this house, with its warm wood and blankets and herbs and smell of outdoors was filled to the brim with love, and he was perfectly happy to swim in it. 

Why, then, did he have to feel so isolated? When Sunrise was gone, the house was a little more shadowy, but no less warm, darkness clinging to Ciaran like a warm, feathery blanket; when Ciaran was gone the light was more gentle on his skin, radiating off Sunrise and filling him up. When they were both gone, however, something changed, and Morning was left alone to wonder why his stomach hurt so much. 

The rhythm of the scrubbing made its way into his brain, tuning his thoughts, and the hot water running over his hand now didn’t seem so hot. It brought him back to guitars and songs and warm fires, even another kind of love altogether. 

He found himself humming a song before he knew it. Something old, something he’d known since he was a child, being passed around adults and children until he had no recollection of his biological parents at all beyond a vague memory of a sad smile and a calming voice. Even then, was it really his birth parents? That sad smile and calm voice could be anyone. He’d been content with that until now. 

That was why he wondered if Sunrise and Ciaran really did love him. He didn’t know what love was. Was it the house, or was it the community? Was love really helping out, worrying needlessly until his two best friends in the world got home? Was love really sleeping with them and kissing them but never getting rid of the feeling of jealousy? 

Quiet singing turned a little less happy, and got quieter still as his scrubbing stopped. The squeezing pain in his stomach was worse. 

Morning’s gaze, unfocussed, landed on the garden outside. Free fields, building fires, playing tag and kissing all of the other kids he couldn’t remember the names of, singing with the adults, bringing flower crowns to Teacher, cooking organic soups and listening to stories; it came flooding back, and within seconds he’d forgotten about the anxious knot inside him. 

Blissful ignorance, Sunrise had called it, but was any of this really so different? Morning wanted to go back - he’d never had a true home after that place, as transient as it may have been. Sometimes, he wondered if the community was still around, few but no doubt strong. 

He’d give anything to go out right now and lie down in the grass, listening to the sounds of nature and feeling the breeze on his cheeks, listening to the faint sound of singing in the distance and knowing that he had at least a hundred people who loved him dearly, and that he loved them five times as much. 

He did wonder. All the time. He wondered what could have been, what if he’d never left, what if he could truly feel as pure as he had once felt. What if his stomach wasn’t twisting with anxiety any more, what if the pains of day to day life weren’t so harsh, what if he didn’t have to smoke to ease some of the terror he felt at thinking of the future? What if-

“Morning! Snap out of it!” 

Slowly, Morning’s brain started up again, enough to register that his hand was in serious pain. 

“Morning, you- Oh, baby, are you all right? You silly bunny.” 

A sad smile, a calming voice. She gently took his hand out of the hot water and blew on it; a small effort but a welcome one. Gently, she guided him to cold water, and splashed some over his hand. 

“Sorry,” Morning said, though it came out choked. His chest was squeezing now, and all the pains he’d been wishing to avoid were coming back in full force. 

Sunrise looked shocked, carefully sitting him down. She was glowing, Morning could swear, and it felt so gentle on his skin he could cry. So he did. She looked tired, having worked all day, and still she found the time to kiss him on the cheek and take care of him. 

Instead of going to wipe his tears away, like she usually would, worry took over her soft, glowing face. “You have to stop thinking about them,” she said quietly. “It’s bad for you. I know you miss them, but that state of mind is dangerous.” 

As if to illustrate her point, his hand twitched with a shot of burning pain. Morning let himself cry harder, curling up so she couldn’t see his face, holding his fluttering stomach. “’M sorry,” he managed to sob, no longer able to see through the tears. “I didn’t- I didn’t- I just-” 

“Sh,” Sunrise sighed, moving over to sit by him and hold him closer to her, warm and safe, and almost everything Morning needed. 

With a cool breeze and a smell of rainy forests, the puzzle was complete, and Ciaran’s familiar Gaelic greetings reached Morning’s heart. The tears stopped, the pain subsided. He was home. 

“Oh, what’s happened?” 

Sunrise seemed to give him a look, because Ciaran understood immediately. Maybe they’d talked about it before. 

“ _A ghrá geal_ ,” he sighed, pulling up his hair, never quite managing to pull it all up and leaving a few ringlet strands to dangle. With a flutter of shadow and a squeeze of warmth, Morning was squished between night and day, and he’d never felt more at home. Anxiety disappeared, and everything he had been panicking about earlier evaporated. 

“I love you,” he mumbled, still hunched over but this time warm beneath a blanket. “Welcome home.”

_Oh, the rich man, the poor man, the saint and the sinner_  
_The wise man, the simpleton, the loser and the winner_  
_We all look the same to Him_  
_Stripped of our clothes and all the things we own_  
_The day that we are born_  
_We are all God's children_  
_And they got no right to change us_  
_Oh, we gotta go back the way the good lord made us all_  
_Yeah, we gotta go back the way the good lord made us all_

**Author's Note:**

> what ciaran says translates to 'bright love' bc hes gay


End file.
